It is spring.
Daffodils erupt from snow-clouded earth,
Their yellow brightness brighter
Than the warming orb of sun
Afloat in blue-bespeckled sky.
It is sugaring time in New England.
Maples, with their sweet syrup flow,
Spill out their lives,
Bleed through taps and tubes,
Sap distilled by fire to sweet-delicious gold.
Proud trees of our loins
In other lands
Give up, too, the sweetness of their blood
Fulfilling
One man’s dream.
4/7/07
Very nice Bob. Beautiful imagery that defines New England in the Spring time. 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very appealing to all the senses. The last stanza provides a lot to think about. It lingers in my mind.